


shattered in pieces with missing bits (a shell of who i was)

by AllTheNamesIWantedWereUsed



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Emotions, F/M, First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, Idk how to tag guys its birthday angst alright
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-23
Updated: 2018-03-23
Packaged: 2019-04-07 01:48:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14070240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllTheNamesIWantedWereUsed/pseuds/AllTheNamesIWantedWereUsed
Summary: Robbie can’t remember the last time he talked, really talked to anyone.Maybe Daisy can help him change that.A birthday present for Fierysky, inspired by the given prompt of "what did you expect? "Title comes from TBS 50's "Together Again"





	shattered in pieces with missing bits (a shell of who i was)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fierysky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fierysky/gifts).



> Some Robbie angst in honor of the birthday of the wonderful Fierysky, (@whistlingwindtree on Tumblr) graces the quakerider fandom with all that she is

Robbie can’t remember the last time he talked, _really_ talked to anyone. Being the Rider’s host means complete isolation, keeping everything compressed and pushed off into some dark corner of his subconscious, bottled up like the vigorously pre-shook soda cans he used to prank his friends with before he dropped out of school.

 

It’s a routine he’d fallen into, really.

 

Wake up, take Gabe to school (act like everything’s fine even though it’s not)

 

Go to work (make small talk so Canelo doesn’t pull him into his office and ask him if he’s alright)

 

Pick up Gabe from Janet’s (smile politely at her lame jokes)

 

Go home (dreading what comes later)

 

Wait until Gabe goes to sleep, then leave.

 

Sometimes he remembers it, the fire and the screams and the way he can feel flesh burning and curling into ash under his hands. Sometimes the Rider’s rage is too great and he doesn’t know anything except coming to in the driver’s seat, his gloves soaked with blood as it leaks through all over his palms and down his jacket.

 

Hands shaking, he tries to wash it off, watching the soap foam and lather with the blood, red and pink and white like waves during a shark attack. He scrubs until it’s gone, rubbing the skin of his knuckles raw, gritting his teeth at the ache in his fingers.

 

Then he lies awake (sleep is as hellish as the waking hours) in his bed with only the Rider for company, feeling it writhe in the back of his skull, stalking his thoughts as they flit by.

 

 _What did you expect?_ it hisses as he wishes for escape, for a reprieve. _Vengeance is never-ending, Roberto. You agreed to this. You have no one to blame but yourself._

 

He never argues, because he knows the Rider’s right.

 

And so this routine continues, day after day, night after night, weeks upon weeks upon months of death and fire and blood.

 

He doesn’t think it’ll ever stop, not until a girl in dark makeup comes to the shop one night and  shakes the ground out from under him, in more ways than one. A girl who faces death and still comes back for round two, a girl with a past he doesn’t begin to understand, a girl with the weight of the world on her shoulders and a cracked heart.

 

A girl, a total stranger, the first person in a long time who makes him fight for who he is, the first break in his routine that shatters it all completely.

 

He never dreams he’ll fall in love with her.

* * *

 

The look in Daisy’s eyes and the feeling in his chest is soft, hushed like the quiet conversation they have in the recess of a hallway, when it happens. He hasn’t felt anything soft in a while, hasn’t felt an emotion that couldn’t be described as jagged and sharp.

 

Her touch is gentle, it always is, it seems. Her hand on his knee as he struggled to explain to Gabe what he’d become, the touch of their shoulders as she stood next to him to reach for a comm device--

 

And now.

 

Her thumbs are callused from her years of gunfire and darker weaponry he’s yet to truly comprehend as they trace the outline of his lips, and a fire ignites in his chest when she closes the minute gap between them. It isn’t the fire of the Rider, raging inferno and death incarnate, but something warm and comfortable, like glowing embers and the feeling of someone’s hands pressed between your own.

 

He’s only ever really known hell, but now he’s tasted heaven and he wants to melt into her arms, her kiss, everything she is-

 

But he can’t.

 

Why stain her perfection with everything that he is?

 

He pulls back, and she follows suit, both of them a little dazed, and before he can launch into any sort of spiel, a speaker belts out Coulson’s voice, calling Daisy to the front of the base. She manages a sheepish apology, and just like that she’s gone, like a fleeting breeze in the midst of an L.A. summer.

It leaves him to wonder how he’ll tell her he’s too broken for her.

* * *

 

“You’ve been avoiding me,” she says lightly, her fingers curling around the back of the chair as she moves to face him directly. Technically, he’s been avoiding everyone, but who needs technicalities?

 

He looks down at his gloves, the same leather gloves that have been soaked with blood over and over again. That first night that they’d met… if one thing, one thing at all, had been different, would he have ended up scrubbing her blood off his hands at the end of the night? The thought makes his skin crawl.

 

“Look, if it’s about the other day, I’m sorry if I crossed a line,” she continues.

 

He shakes his head, unable to speak.

 

“Oh. Well...what’s wrong, then?” She pulls out a chair and sits down across from him.

 

He gives a small, shaky laugh at that. Everything. Everything is so, so, wrong and has been for so long. The Rider, a demonic murderer in his head, all the blood on his hands, enough to turn the seas red, to say nothing of the dreams and fears and the ever-present thought of living like this forever.

 

It doesn’t take long for her to realize that there’s so much more to what he’s thinking.

 

She reaches across and takes one of his hands. “You can talk to me, you know,” she says. “You gotta talk to _someone_ , you can’t keep it all bottled up.”

 

“I don’t know how,” he says, rasps, really.

 

“That’s okay,” she replies softly. “We’ll figure it out. I’ll help you.”

 

“You will?” He can’t remember the last time someone said “I’ll help you” to him. Usually it’s the other way around.

 

“What did you expect?” she says with a gentle smile. “That’s what we do around here, for people we care about.”

 

 _Care_.

 

It’s been a long time since he heard the word _care_.

 

For once, the Rider seems a little quieter in his mind.

**Author's Note:**

> Comment/kudos, please! And be sure to send some love to our birthday gal


End file.
